Running Entertainment
Three pathetic, sadistic guys in desperate need of a good therapist terrorize an L.A. laundromat in this ludicrous, grating drama. Writer-director-producer Dan Patton reaches for psychological edge and affecting revelations, but all that comes out in the wash is overacted soap. During its engagement at the Los Feliz 3, "Wash Dry & Spin Out" is unlikely to entice audiences beyond the friends of cast and crew.
To lift the spirits of Jeff (Randy Thomas), who's moping over a breakup and needs to do laundry, trash-talking Carl (Tyler Lindsay) and Gil (Jason Morck) accompany him to the coin-o-mat for a night of stupid, mean behavior. Armed with pint bottles of booze -- and, in the case of their angry and, alas, impotent leader Carl, a switchblade -- the trio drunkenly rove the premises, careening from melodrama to melodrama.
There's the lingerie-laundering prostitute (Zoska Aleece) who services each of the three guys in the restroom, the moody paraplegic (Damian Trevor), the self-proclaimed dwarf (Eugene Pidgeon) with a stalled acting career, the bickering lesbian couple (Nina Tapaninen, Nicole Krauter) and the dorky screenwriting duo (Darrel Guilbeau, Allan Piper), hunkering behind washing machines to observe the verbal and physical abuse from a safe distance, madly typing notes into a laptop. One can only hope they make better use of the material.
Viewers will suspend not an ounce of disbelief. Flashbacks meant to provide character insights only induce the same degree of irritation as the main action, while proving even less credible. That someone -- say, the security guard? -- doesn't call the cops sooner, perhaps when the louts are playing catch with the laptop or tearing through the aisles in the wheelchair, is one of the story's ridiculous postulations. Aggravating the preposterousness, the customers not only submit themselves, one by one, to the boys' Psych 101 harangues, but they engage in heated explanations of their personalities, essentially defending themselves to these creeps. The hooker's conversation with Carl is the only halfway interesting patch of dialogue in the film, but, as does every exchange here, it collapses into a lame confession of trauma.
Tech credits on the vid-shot feature are basic, and the unfortunate music score sounds like recycled remnants from a soft-porn soundtrack.
Three pathetic, sadistic guys in desperate need of a good therapist terrorize an L.A. laundromat in this ludicrous, grating drama. Writer-director-producer Dan Patton reaches for psychological edge and affecting revelations, but all that comes out in the wash is overacted soap. During its engagement at the Los Feliz 3, "Wash Dry & Spin Out" is unlikely to entice audiences beyond the friends of cast and crew.
To lift the spirits of Jeff (Randy Thomas), who's moping over a breakup and needs to do laundry, trash-talking Carl (Tyler Lindsay) and Gil (Jason Morck) accompany him to the coin-o-mat for a night of stupid, mean behavior. Armed with pint bottles of booze -- and, in the case of their angry and, alas, impotent leader Carl, a switchblade -- the trio drunkenly rove the premises, careening from melodrama to melodrama.
There's the lingerie-laundering prostitute (Zoska Aleece) who services each of the three guys in the restroom, the moody paraplegic (Damian Trevor), the self-proclaimed dwarf (Eugene Pidgeon) with a stalled acting career, the bickering lesbian couple (Nina Tapaninen, Nicole Krauter) and the dorky screenwriting duo (Darrel Guilbeau, Allan Piper), hunkering behind washing machines to observe the verbal and physical abuse from a safe distance, madly typing notes into a laptop. One can only hope they make better use of the material.
Viewers will suspend not an ounce of disbelief. Flashbacks meant to provide character insights only induce the same degree of irritation as the main action, while proving even less credible. That someone -- say, the security guard? -- doesn't call the cops sooner, perhaps when the louts are playing catch with the laptop or tearing through the aisles in the wheelchair, is one of the story's ridiculous postulations. Aggravating the preposterousness, the customers not only submit themselves, one by one, to the boys' Psych 101 harangues, but they engage in heated explanations of their personalities, essentially defending themselves to these creeps. The hooker's conversation with Carl is the only halfway interesting patch of dialogue in the film, but, as does every exchange here, it collapses into a lame confession of trauma.
Tech credits on the vid-shot feature are basic, and the unfortunate music score sounds like recycled remnants from a soft-porn soundtrack.
- 6/19/2003
- The Hollywood Reporter - Movie News
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